Some Things Are Meant To Be Lost
by Bizzare-at-heart
Summary: Who is Natasha Romanoff? Natasha thinks it's time to find out. She sets out to find out about her past with Clint in tow, what she finds is not what she expected. Clintasha/blackhawk, a little romance and action First fic. T for language/possible violence.


Hours went on as Clint realised the worst part about his job was the waiting. Sure, people called him a superhero now, but he still got the short end of the stick when it came to missions. Like those sit-around-and-keep-a-eye-out-for-some-terrorist-w ho-probably-isn't-a-terrorist missions. For example, Clint was currently cramped in a tiny shack in the middle of a German forest with a red-headed level 5 stuffing his face with cheap chocolates.

"Hey man," The ginge started and Clint suppressed a groan." How long have we been out here for?"

"You have a watch." Clint spat and continued staring at two sparrows having a go at each other. His SHIELD-issued Smart phone cut off any response with a round of beeps, after checking the number he raised it to his ear.

"Please tell me you have extraction waiting."

"You know, when you stop complaining we might actually put you back on higher caliber missions, Clint." Phil's voice crackled through the receiver.

"Yes Mom. Now seriously, do you?" The agent replied with an eye-roll.

"Road twenty yards to the east. Blue sedan. Eighty minutes to base max." Clint ended the call and rose from the single bed.

"Come on Weasly, we're outa here." The agent opposite him jumped up and swung on his tramping backpack. _Definitely level 5. _Clint thought.

Now he could see _her_ again.

* * *

The ride back to the hellicarrier wasn't half bad as Clint has predicted, he had obviously left an impression on the poor red-haired agent strapped in across from him in the quinjet.

Another call from Coulson had told him Natasha was back on base. She had been sent off to Japan last week for a quick undercover arms dealer operation, nothing fancy, but a hell of a lot more than what Clint was doing.

It had been two months, and twelve mental evals yet Fury still needed him to stick to easier missions. It wasn't that the director didn't trust him, he had explained to Clint that everyone else still thought he was going to snap and put a bullet between their eyes, so it was better to ease into it.

Clint shook his head as if to rid those thoughts. The last thing he needed was a reminder of Manhattan. He rested his elbows on his knees and his hands clenched together. _Stop it_.

He sensed his partner staring but didn't bother looking up.

_Flashes of blue- god dammit. _A shiver shot down his spine as images raced around his mind, awakening the memory of burning ice in his veins. _You have hea-_

"Landing at base in two minutes max." The pilot broke Clint free from his lost state. He raised his head and fell back into the seat, vaguely aware of the redhead's almost frightened face.

_Two minutes. You can hold it back for that long. Two minutes then she will be there._

* * *

"You know, going to your suite to clean yourself up means you actually have to clean up. Not sit around with a book in your hand and ice on your shoulder." All Clint got back was a finger pop up from the back of Natasha's chair. He had half expected her to be waiting for him on the tarmac of the hellicarrier, only to receive a quick call filled with Russian profanities - Japan had been sloppy, apparently.

The rooms assigned to agents permanently living in the hellicarrier were mostly the same; white walls, thin grey carpet, tables and chairs bolted to the floor, and a bed -comfortable if you were on Fury's good side. In Natasha's room, she had set up a leather lounge chair and a bookcase filled with foreign tales and history books -an attempt to make the bland living space more homey as she had told Clint. The assassin herself was curled up on the chair with a leather-bound book, German letters written along the spine.

"How bad?" Clint sighed and settled on the edge of her bed. "And don't brush anything off again."

Natasha finally turned her head, a wave of red curls struggled to stay in a tight bun and fell across her eyes. Dried blood lined her hairline and jaw, a dozen or so tiny cuts grazed her cheek.

"Took a glass bottle to the head." She gestured to the mess. "Got partnered with Anderson again."

"The green tea dude?" Clint had to conceal a boyish giggle, Anderson was not the most liked agent on base.

"Wouldn't shut up about some Japanese spiritual shit, left his ass in the medical wing before he started on herbal remedies again." She let out a harsh breath and fixed the slipping icepack back on her shoulder.

"And your shoulder?"

"Just bruising."

Clint let out a sigh and rose to his feet, reaching to the first aid kit that lay on the table.

"Lets clean you face up _before_ it gets infected this time."

* * *

Natasha sauntered past people in uniform through the hellicarrier's corridors, each step bringing her closer to Fury's office. Just go in and get it over with. She tried to calm her threatening nerves. You need to do this.

The door to Fury's office fell open quietly, revealing the director's back as he gazed out the window. The director's head turned slightly to acknowledge the widow's presence.

"Yes? Agent Romanoff?"

"Director, I would like to ask for a leave of absence." She held a breath, she hadn't taken a day off since she started at SHIELD, well, not voluntarily at least.

Fury shifted his stance and faced Natasha, visually taken by surprise.

"I guess I have no reason to refuse you a break."

Natasha discreetly let out her breath and started to speak, but Fury cut her off.

"But please understand I have to ask, why the sudden request? What are you interested in _doing_ on your break?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow, looking for an answer.

"I'm looking for something." With that she strode out of his office without saying goodbye, knowing very well she might not ever get the chance to again.


End file.
